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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405971">A Marital Dialogue, Pertaining to Children and Compromise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio'>glorious_clio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bridgerton (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, and some smut, but MOSTLY communication, real legitimate apologies, seriously That Scene was really bad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Does that hurt?”</i><br/> <br/><i>It’s a frequent question now. She asked it first, in those early, heady days of their honeymoon. And of course the answer was no. An emphatic no. </i></p><p>  <i>But now, the answer is rather frequently, yes. </i></p><p>  <i>“This is the best I have felt in weeks,” Daphne admits. She is soaking in their deep tub, modestly covered in a loose shift. Steam curls up into their room. The fire is roaring, a balm against the windy, wintery night outside. </i><br/> <br/>A much needed apology, and an attempt at a conversation about how many children they might have. It won’t be the last they have.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>699</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Marital Dialogue, Pertaining to Children and Compromise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an attempt to open a conversation about That Scene. Episode 6 did Simon dirty, we all know it, and yet his “betrayal” is the only one that’s addressed. I haven’t read the books, but from what I understand, That Scene is Worse. </p><p>Forgive any missteps. I wrote this for me, and for diebrarian. Consider it unbeta’d.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Does that hurt?”</p><p>It is a frequent question now. She asked it first, in those early, heady days of their honeymoon. And of course the answer was <em> no</em>. An emphatic no. Very little could have felt better. Except a few weeks later, when they completed the act of love after their ball, on both of their terms. </p><p>But now, the answer is rather frequently, <em> yes</em>. </p><p>Yes, the baby kicked her inners, yes the baby was sitting low in the cradle of her pelvis, yes her skin was stretching. Or rather, the answer was a noncommittal sigh, every part of her was sore and tender, stretched taut by the reality of their expectations. </p><p>In the early hours of her labor pains, she would not admit to major discomfort, and soon he did not need to ask. <em> “Does that hurt?” </em> He could see it in her face. Hear it in her panting, her screams and moans. See it in Violet’s face as she mopped her eldest daughter’s brow and forced cold tea past her lips. It hurt him, too, to see her in so much pain. It was as uncontrollable as the outcome. </p><p>But the midwife cleared her for baths now, and with a twinkle in her eye cleared the Duchess for other exertions as well. </p><p>“This is the best I have felt in weeks,” Daphne admits. She is soaking in their deep tub, modestly covered in a loose shift. Steam curls up into their room. The fire is roaring, a balm against the windy, wintery night outside. </p><p>She does not open her eyes until he drags a stool over, takes her right hand in his left and tests the water with his right. It is scalding. Her other arm is wrapped protectively over her belly, as if by force of habit. Underneath is a row of stretchmarks that he calls her battlescars. Though she once teased him for being her general, the truth was the birth of his son was the bravest thing he had ever witnessed. Even now he is humbled by what her body rallied to, and the evidence was in the nursery with the wetnurse. </p><p>Daphne meets his eyes and smiles at him. “Oh, Simon. I love our child, but I am waiting for my body to come back to me. It is... different, than before.”</p><p>“Much has changed over the last year. But you are more beautiful than ever.” </p><p>She closes her eyes again with a sigh. </p><p>“Is this water too hot?” There is a flush to her skin, and he tries not to worry about childbed fever. She was watched closely for those signs, but was deemed past them. <em> Does that hurt?  </em></p><p>“No, it feels so good. Everything is... settling.” Nine months of the baby pushing her body around, and it has only been six or seven weeks, surely not quite long enough to entirely put right. He did not know. They did not teach those things to Oxford students studying the Classics. Mostly, the dons turned blind eyes to their pupils’ antics. Would his son play at the same storied school? </p><p>“I wish I could hurry your discomfort out the door.”</p><p>She steals a glance at him, as if to try and determine how serious he was, and of course finds one of his most solemn looks. Daphne smiles. </p><p>His right hand is still trailing in the hot water—the servants deserve a raise for a bath this hot for the Duchess—and swishes it playfully over to her hip, and then back again, creating a small current for her. </p><p>She has permission, but he does not have consent. </p><p>“Oh,” she says only.  </p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yes, I think yes.”  </p><p>“Hmmm.” He carefully finds the inside of her thigh, tracing lightly, pushing the shift out of his way. He watches her face as her eyelids flutter shut, her right hand squeezes his left, her left hand braces on the edge of the tub. </p><p>She <em> thinks </em> yes. He smiles, traces up. Her skin is like cream, if he did not know better he would think the tub was full of milk. She sighs as he touches her, trembles now. Again, his so-called education fails him, he never took an anatomy class he had to admit to her once when she eagerly asked for Latin names of the body. Instead he moves to a spot that she aptly named the Love Knot. </p><p>Her mouth falls open.</p><p>“Does that hurt?” His voice is low, eager. </p><p>“No, it feels...” she trails off breathlessly. “But...”</p><p>He slows, backs off a bit. “No, do not stop,” she whines, “Only, stay... outside. Still.”</p><p>Simon nods, then refocuses on her. This is enough, this would forever be enough. As long as he can still make her gasp and pant, cum on the pressure of his fingertips, buoyant in her bath (ah! One thing he learned at Oxford), all was well with them. </p><p>She is breathless now, her back arching, her face more flushed than before, and he does back off this time, holding her knee until she can catch her breath. </p><p>“Simon,” she sighs his name. </p><p>The water feels cooler now. He pulls himself up to find a towel, and he wraps her in it, then leaves her briefly to change her to a dry shift, to pomade and powder her hair. </p><p>She is dressed and curled up in their bed when he returns from his dressing room, wearing a freshly laundered shirt. The fire is roaring still. Daphne smiles softly in that way she has, and he lifts the covers and fits himself into the warm sweet swirl of her. </p><p>She is brushing a thumb across his collarbone when she says, “I have been thinking....”</p><p>“Oh dear. I hope Lady Whistledown is holding on to her quill.”</p><p>“I said thinking, not <em> scheming</em>.” </p><p>“Either way, you know I want to hear.” </p><p>Her face was solemn, now. “I fear... or rather, I must beg for forgiveness. The last few weeks have taught me I was wrong to try and force you into fatherhood that night.” </p><p>Gambling is not a vice the Duke of Hastings is usually guilty of, there are too many variables. There was absolutely no way he could have ever accounted for the variables that made up his wife.</p><p>That night, where she pushed him, tested him, tested the limits of their very young marriage, forcing him to finish inside her for the first time. </p><p>“Daphne—”</p><p>“No, please let me speak. Eloise tried to teach me about choices, but I am afraid I was not a very good pupil. Mama told me that love is a choice. To force you into a position where you had no choice was wrong. That was not a loving act. I learned not from the circumstances of our wedding. Though I have always wanted to be a mother, I did not truly understand how difficult it is to have a real child. And really, I did not yet understand you, but I should never have forced you....”</p><p>The first few weeks of their son’s life had been challenging for the entire household, he had to admit. Time, distance, <em> pain</em>, had changed them. </p><p>“I am sorry,” she concluded. </p><p>“I... I have not thought of that grim night in so long,” he admitted. It hurt to do so, though he could not have told her why. Her betrayal was tangled up in his vow, and the vow has been truly broken by him. But he does not like to think of that night. </p><p>She ducked her head. He kissed her hairline. </p><p>With his thoughts somewhat gathered, he says, “It is true, I love our son more than I could have dreamed,” he said softly. “It is also true that I wish to provide you with as many children as you would desire. Things are truly changed with us.</p><p>“But I must also add this: seeing you in childbirth was one of the most terrifying experiences in my life. I cannot imagine that I will ever be less than absolutely frightened to watch you go through that again. I will, however. I will be brave as long as you can bear it.”</p><p>He does not need to remind her the risk she takes each time she is to become pregnant. </p><p>“Know that I am willing to negotiate the terms of our parenthood with you. Not because of my deathbed vow to the former Duke. But because I wish to be an equal partner in this endeavor, with you. And I forgive you, because I trust that we will never repeat those mistakes.”</p><p>She was silent as she listened to him, but no tears dampen his shirt. Instead she looks up at him again, in the eye. His brave wife. </p><p>“There may be times,” she began, “where your... creativity and experience in our marriage bed will be equally welcome. I daresay, the idea of complete abstinence is abhorrent to me. I think the knowledge I have <em> now</em>, and the openness between us, will help us both as we move forward. I certainly will never force another child, unless we <em> both </em> agree it is time.” </p><p>He smiles, kissing her again. “Do you remember what I said to you on our wedding night?”</p><p>“I remember the warning that a certain act may hurt a moment.”</p><p>“Not that. I said when we began, ‘I want to show you more’.”</p><p>A smile blooms across her face, as curious and eager as she was more than a year ago. “I want to be shown. And I never wish to stop. We will time the children as best we can.” </p><p>He combs his fingers through her curly hair, she resumes ghosting her thumb over his collarbones. </p><p>It has taken much less to stir his passions, but he can see how tired she is, so he wills himself to remain calm for her. </p><p>“Apologies and forgiveness on both sides, Daphne. You have them both.”</p><p>“As do you.” Her smile turned into a yawn. </p><p>“Here, rest, my love. I shall bank the fire.”</p><p>She nods off while he blows out their candles, banks the fire, adds another blanket to their bed. And then he once again enfolds the Duchess in his arms, determined to keep her warm, safe, and supported. They would not be able to protect each other from all future hurts, but at least neither will be the cause of pain to the other. </p>
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